


a(n incomplete) list of things that make me think of you

by basementblues



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Breakup, Closure, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Oneshot, Recovery, idk??? this is my first story on here what am i supposed to tag?????, jinyoung's pov, ok thats all i can think of, uhhhh i hope you like this tho please leave feedback, writer!jinyoung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basementblues/pseuds/basementblues
Summary: I spent so much time trying to figure out how to get over you that I never got the chance to actually do so, babe. Crazy, isn’t it?But you know I always went crazy over you.





	a(n incomplete) list of things that make me think of you

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first ever time writing a jjp fic, so i hope it's not all that bad???

For the first 3 months (or perhaps 2 and a half?) after our parting, I trust you’ll trust me when I say I saw you in everything. I trust you’ll trust me when I say it felt like a curse, too. I thought you had finally used your bewitched ways to cast a spell on me that’s bound to last an eternity. It was an incredibly effective one, at that. Wherever I turned, I saw something that screamed your name. I found pieces of you in alleyways and amusement parks, in solitude and solidarity, up in the infinite sky and even in the vast view of the sea. I almost started hating the beach. 

At the end of each day, I found something that made me want to text you going, “hey, I saw this today and it reminded me of you.” 

I still have the drafts. I still remember the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead when my finger hovered over the send button for what felt like 30 minutes, but was probably just 3, contemplating the possible turn of events that could take place if I press send and whether any of them would be in my favour. I spent so much time trying to figure out how to get over you that I never got the chance to actually do so, babe. Crazy, isn’t it? 

But you know I always went crazy over you.

That’s just how it works, isn’t it? I go in circles when it comes to you. I’ve never known any other shape. I always go back to where I started, because in my mind, we’re still in the honeymoon phase and you’re still waiting for me to come back to you. In my head, this breakup will last about 14 hours until one of us will call the other up again and apologize. But it was always me who called, babe. This time, I waited for your call. I wanted to see your caller ID pop up on my phone. I wanted to hear my words but with your voice.

They never came.

14 hours became 6 weeks. Then it was 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13 was when Jackson said he had had enough and dragged me out to the club he bartends at. I missed seeing him mixing drinks. He’s so good at what he does, and his face beams in pride whenever we acknowledge it. You acknowledged it, too. He didn’t look as proud when you did, though. I think he always knew. Jackson usually does know when something will be good for me or just rob the good away from me.

That night, I got so drunk that your favourite beer was all I could taste. Then I closed my eyes and kissed a guy, and I pretended it was you. I let him sway his hips with mine, but I pretended it was you. I let him leave a hickey on my neck, but I pretended it was you. I let him grab my thighs really rough, but I pretended it was you. And I think somewhere along the way, I moaned your name, too.

Maybe that was what I needed: closure. I didn’t get much of it, but it was still a better goodbye than the one you gave me.

It’s week 15 now. I’m better. I’m writing again. I open my curtains wider. I text my friends back almost immediately. I stopped listening to songs that will take me back to the past so much. I’ve discovered that I have a knack for baking. I’ve stopped living with the ghost you left behind, I kicked that fucker out of the apartment. I’ve even stopped seeing you everywhere. Just a little. Every now and then, I find you in things that may always take me back to a memory. And you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m okay with you living in the black box that resides in the back of my head. So, here’s a list, in memoir of what we once were.

 

A few things that make me think of you:

 

** 1\. Playlists **

I think they were one of your favourite pastime activities, weren’t they, babe? You had a new song up on your Instagram account every week. You loved the sound of the music, the taste of the lyrics, the feeling of the rhythm like soundwaves passing through your heartbeat. There was never a pattern, either. You loved going on my Spotify account, ‘cause I had the premium package that I always pestered you to get but you insisted was a waste of money. I would always pretend to be annoyed at the new R&B or jazz that would make it’s way into my list of downloaded songs, but I never did mind. I’m sure you knew that, right? It’s quite okay, babe. 

You had a playlist for the roadtrips, for the fucking, for the cafe dates, for the lazy weekends. Heck, you even had a playlist of recommendations from Bambam. You two loved to come together and conspire about producing your own music someday. I stood somewhere in the background, cheeks lifting as I listened to the childlike enthusiasm in your voice. It was more than a passion, wasn't it? It was a dream. You never admitted it, but it was easy to tell that it was something you wanted to achieve. I hope you know that you can, and I say this from friend to friend instead of from ex to ex. With a voice like yours, you could sing the whole world to sleep. Stop singing secretly in the kitchen while cooking breakfast in the morning or in the shower after coming home from class.

I have a question I need to ask you though. One that’s played in my head over and over like a broken record.

How come you never made me one, babe? A playlist, I mean. Did you not think of me enough when you found underground songs about love? Was it easier to find my name between those lyrics about lust instead? You loved seeing me without my clothes, but as soon as I stripped away my layers of secrecy, you’d get out of bed and tell me there was somewhere you had to be. It was either silent cuddling or nothing.

Why were you so afraid, babe? I still wonder why you were so afraid of getting to know me.

 

** 2\. White flowers **

Do you remember the ones you got me on our first 3 dates? I’m sure you knew I would love them when you picked them, ‘cause you wore a smug smile when you handed them to me. On our first date, when you came to get me from my apartment and gave me the five tiny baby breaths, I had put them in the pocket of my blue flannel, careful not to drop them as we walked to the only cafe we could afford. It was your first time there, and I told you it would be a short walk away. I’m glad you didn’t say anything when you realised it wasn’t. I hope you didn’t mind, babe. Something about walking beside you, staring down at our shoes and syncing our steps to get my mind off my sweaty palms just felt… it felt like a breeze. Like a cool breeze that slips through your window on a midsummer night. And I was needy.

They served a great peanut butter milkshake though, didn’t they? 

I still go there sometimes. I still order the peanut butter milkshake. I don’t understand something, though; I don’t understand why it tasted better when I shared it with you.

I remember stealing glances at you while I was sipping, spotting those two moles and your eyelashes that made me daydream of butterfly kisses. I remember wondering whether you were aware that I was already wrapped around your finger despite the fact that we had barely gone in detail about who we were. I remember wondering if you could smell it, or sense it, or worst of all, see it; that I was putty in your hands. 

I think you could, babe. I think you just pretended that you couldn’t. I know you loved the superiority.

I don't loathe the sight of white flowers now. I just wish you hadn't picked those baby breaths from somewhere so close to where I live. Now, every time I walk out the door, I barely make it far before I see a tiny patch growing on the ground. My hand itches to reach out every time. I want to a grab a few. I want to put them in my pocket. I want to give them to you. I can't, though. I know I can't. There is a memory growing with them that isn't mine anymore. 

And so, I just walk back into my apartment and turn on the TV. I turn the volume up so loud that I can tune out the thought of our first date and how different it felt compared to our last.

 

** 3\. Glow in the dark items**

I can’t believe I let you do that that one time. It was horrendous. Well, not exactly, but you must admit that it made your dick glow an ugly shade of neon green. You couldn’t even stop giggling to fuck me properly, which just resulted in me turning us over so I could be on top, but I found myself out of breath before I could even ride you, simply at the sight of you laying beneath me. With your chest vibrating and the sound of you wheezing, you’d think it wasn’t too romantic, but there was something about you that night. You were more than the usual touchy-feely. You were there, more than physically. Your body was present and your mind wasn’t absent. You were looking right at me and it didn’t feel like your soul had gotten up to leave the room already. When you touched me, it didn’t feel ghostly.

That was one of my favourite nights.

I don’t know if it was the neon glow from the hideous condom we were using or the streetlight that was peeking through the curtains, but the way the light hit you that night made me feel like I was watching the playback of some silhouetted sweet dream. You smiled up at me, your hands on my waist to keep me steady and your breathing heavy. I wanted right then and there to dig what felt to be rightfully yours out of my ribcage and give it to you, since this heart of mine was whining about it so badly.

Then we fucked mid-laughter that transitioned into moaning. You kissed me, once, twice, and the third time I held it for longer than necessary. I pushed my body into yours and there was no space in between but I was greedy, I wanted to feel you in my bloodstream.

Every time I pass by that isle at the pharmacy, my eyes subconsciously look for the same box of condoms you brought home that night. You see, I’m still teaching myself to stop searching for something that doesn't want to be found. It’ll take me some time to fully master the skill. You know how stubborn I can be, clinging onto dirty habits.

 

** 4\. Bucket hats **

This one’s a bit self-explanatory, isn't it? 

I’m glad I got you a new one for your birthday that one time. You really grew fond of the dumb trend, and I simply watched, even though I hated the way it became a daily routine, causing your eyes to be hidden and not meet mine most of the time. Maybe that should have been my first warning? That despite months past the honeymoon phase, I still gazed at your eyes like the look of a moon intruding an early sky, but you began avoiding mine like it hurt as much as staring into a solar eclipse.

I only did it ‘cause your old hat was getting on my nerves though, with black thread sticking out and its colour slowly fading after excessive washing.

I remember the deafening sound of Jackson’s laughter, but most importantly, the foolish smile on your face when you opened the neatly wrapped present I got you and put it on display so everyone else at the party could see. Mark was asking me if I was playing some sick joke, and Youngjae was saying how I really knew you best to have gotten you such an unthinkable gift. You know what, baby? For a night, I believed him. I thought I knew you better than anything. I thought I knew you more than anybody else in that room, anybody else in your contact’s list, anybody else in the sleepless city of Seoul.

I should've known better. I should’ve remembered that nothing really lasts forever, and you meant a little more than everything to me, so that was meant to end like an unprecedented disaster. 

You still wear it out though. I know you do. I see you around town at times, and I may turn around to avoid making conversation with you, but before I do, I catch enough of a glimpse to recognise the hat you threw on to be the one I picked out from a dusty rack just for you. I’m glad you didn't throw it out after what happened between us. I haven't thrown out the old one you left at my place after the party either. It still sits there, on my drawer, daring me to cut it up with fabric scissors or put it on fire. 

I don’t want to, though. A small part of me wants to leave it be, like the hope that one day I’ll see you walking down the street and not try to flee, but instead walk up to you and ask you, “hey. It’s been a while. I’m actually doing really good. How have you been?”

 

** 5\. I can’t **

I can't write this list any longer. What am I doing? It looks like such a beautiful day outside. I can hear a few birds chirping as they settle down on the branch by my window, and the ahjumma who lives downstairs opening her house gate, and the sound of a bicycle’s bell. I can’t remember the last time I cycled around town. 

I have a few unread texts from my friends. They’re so patient with me. They give me the time that I need. I should stop keeping them waiting. I think I’m going to text Mark or Jackson and have them come over so we can go cycling together. Or maybe just take a walk down the neighbourhood park and lay on the grass for a while. Read a book. Chat for a bit. Get some ice cream, maybe.

You know what? This is what I deserve. A sunny day spent with company.

I don't want to mourn any longer. This isn't a funeral. I'm not holding a funeral for us in my journal knowing that you wouldn't even bother showing up, much less bring an eulogy of your own to read aloud in front of a crowd that consists of the many people we were in the 2 years that we were together. To hell with what reminds me of you. You don't want to know. If you did, you would have gotten a hold of me in the past few months and asked me why you barely see me around anymore. You didn’t. You knew I was gone, and you were fine with me being missing.

I’m not going to let myself get lost for any longer. I’m going to find myself again. I owe myself that much.

There’s a new day out there calling out for me, and it doesn't have a trace of you in it. I’m about to go spend it like it’s my first. 


End file.
